Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a sharp squeak as Joan turned off the faucet and dried her hands. She paced the bathroom, counting down the ten minutes to tell her what she already knew. She was not pregnant. She couldn't be. 

Her last period had been abnormally light, but that didn’t mean anything. It was just the stress of getting the clinic set up. Crying in the middle of the general store because she couldn’t find the boxed spaghetti was a little disconcerting – she had never been one to cry at all – but Sybil had probably been right when she suggested that Joan was still grappling with her parents’ recent deaths. Neither of their deaths had come as a surprise, given the circumstances, but it didn’t make it easy. Much as she hated when Sybil was right. It made the other woman far too smug for her liking. 

The nausea was what really worried her. At first, she thought it was just a stomach bug, but it didn’t go away after a few days. And then she missed her next period completely. She couldn’t be pregnant. It was impossible. She was a doctor. Babies didn’t just happen, and she hadn’t even had a date since before med school. She was much too busy for that – she had classes and her residency taking up all of her time. And then her parents got sick, and she returned to the holler to take care of them, and now she was establishing the clinic. There was no time for her to fool around. Why was she even entertaining this nonsense? What did she think she was going to see?

A negative test result, for one. She wanted the confirmation that she was not, in fact, miraculously pregnant. And to eat literally anything without keeping a bucket handy. 

There had been that… dream, or rather a series of dreams, or sleep paralysis episodes. It had only been a figment of her imagination, but it had certainly felt very real. She felt a blush creep up her neck and shoved it down forcefully - she was not blushing over a dream like some high schooler. She was thirty-two years old, for Christ's sake. Perhaps she was a little lonely since her parents died and Vivian started seeing her new boyfriend, but that was it. She wasn’t pregnant from a dream. That was something Sybil would suggest.

No, it had to be the flu. Or hypothyroidism. Or literally anything that wasn’t impossible. 

She picked up the test. A little pink plus sign disagreed with her. She scoffed and tossed it into the trash with disgust, next to the last two tests and the water bottles. She must be sick. It was annoying to have to drive into the city, but she’d have to make an appointment with her doctor. Whatever it was needed to be nipped in the bud before she was too sick to work. 

***

A week later, she was pulled aside at the general store by Miles Forsyth, Sybil’s husband. 

He had brightened the moment she entered the store, the little bell above the door heralding her arrival. “Joan! Could I ask you a quick question?” 

“Yes, but I can’t stay too long. I have an appointment to get to.” She forced herself to sound calm. There was no need to be nervous. It was just the flu. “What did you need?”

“What do you know about pregnancy?” His voice dropped low on the last word, and Joan stiffened. She had been discreet. She bought the tests when she had last been in Brevard rather than at the general store. No one needed to know her business. “It’s just… don’t tell anyone yet, but Sybil’s pregnant and…”

Joan breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, congratulations to you both.”

“Thanks.” He beamed. “We’ve been trying for a while, and we’re both thrilled. We were thinking Kaneeka for a girl, or Miles Jr. for a boy. Sybil is convinced it's going to be a girl though - she says she has a feeling.”

“Those are wonderful names,” she said honestly, glad that she could keep her own pregnancy scare under wraps for now. It was just a scare. “How far along is she?”

Miles considered it for a moment. “Six weeks, we think. Sybil had a feeling a while back – you know how she is – and we just confirmed it.”

“Well, I’m not an OBGYN, but I can recommend a few in the city,” she offered. “And you’ll want to make sure she’s hydrated and taking prenatal vitamins.”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You know how Sybil is… She’s been drinking herbal tea. She says it’s her grandmother’s recipe for a healthy baby. And she says she wants a home birth, with a midwife.”

Joan pinched the bridge of her nose. Sybil... “Try to convince her to see an OBGYN. At least to monitor her pregnancy, even if she wants a home birth. And remind her to switch to decaffeinated tea, if she hasn’t already.”

“You got it, doc,” Miles said warmly. He returned to his work stocking shelves, whistling cheerfully as he worked. He was so happy about it, and Joan couldn't help but be pleased for him too. He and Sybil had been trying for a long time, though Sybil never seemed bothered by it. She never seemed bothered by anything.

Joan nodded and headed out. It was about halfway to the city when she realized she’d meant to pick up a bottle of water for the road. 

***

It had been three days since Joan was informed, gently but firmly, that she was definitely eight weeks pregnant. This was... actually happening, and she wasn't sure how to feel about that. She'd never given much thought to having children before. It wasn't that she definitely didn't want kids, but... she'd always been busy doing other things. What if she would be a terrible mother? She could ruin its life, if she wasn't ready. She didn't have to go through with it, but she could. With a sigh, she picked up her landline and stared at the number pad. 

She thought about the Richmonds, who had recently announced their own pregnancy, and the Forsyths, who were waiting to say anything until after the first trimester. Who was she supposed to tell? Her parents were gone, she was an only child, and she had no extended family with whom she was close. She’d had friends back in high school, but she’d been gone from the Holler for so long that most of those friendships had faded into memory. The only person she had wanted to tell was Vivian, but they hadn't spoken in weeks. None of Joan's phone calls had gone through, nor her messages returned. 

She thought about Vivian, up in the Scarlet Manor, alone with her terror of a grandmother, Pearlanne, and Pearlanne's husband. That Pearlanne had actually gotten married was nothing short of a minor miracle, or perhaps some kind of dark magic. She recalled, too, how controlling Edwardina Scarlet could be. Vivian had never been allowed to stay out late when they were in school – in fact, most of the time she was required to return straight home after school to work on her homework and tend to her grandmother. Sometimes she would sneak calls to Joan in the evenings after her grandmother went to bed, but even then she had to be cautious of Pearlanne, the miserable snitch. 

They were grown now, though, and surely Vivian was allowed to talk to whomever she pleased. She was probably just busy helping with her new niece or with that miner she had started seeing. Still, Vivian had been acting strange for weeks before she went radio silent. The last time they spoke, Vivian hadn't just seemed nervous - she'd been terrified, glancing over her shoulder and answering in monosyllables, a far cry from the usually witty and self-assured woman that Joan had grown up with. A pit of dread began to form in Joan’s stomach, but she swallowed it down. This wasn’t the time to panic. She could handle this. Joan grabbed her coat and the keys to her truck and hurried out the door. 

Scarlet Manor loomed alone at the end of a long, winding road, perched over the town like a gargoyle. She hadn't been inside since Vivian's graduation party, since Vivian always preferred meeting anywhere else. Joan couldn't blame her - the place had the grandeur of an abandoned asylum. It was gray and faded, like the rest of the holler. Like a creature that was in the throes of death, gasping for air. If she believed in ghosts, she'd have said the place was haunted. But no, it was just old and drafty and depressing. 

She parked in front of the house and struck the door thrice. Pearlanne opened it, her face already twisted into her trademark sneer. She held a screaming baby in her arms that looked about four or five months old. Joan felt a stab of pity for Pearlanne. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and her usually impeccable makeup was gone. Motherhood had been hard on her. “What do you want, Joan?”

“I need to talk to Viv, and my calls haven't been going through,” she said firmly. “Could you get her?”

Pearlanne rolled her eyes, adjusting the baby in her arms. “Oh, your girlfriend is ignoring you? Figures. Ever since she started—”

“Can you just let her know I’m here?” she interrupted, not in the mood for Pearlanne's tangent. “It’s urgent.”

The woman scowled, but conceded, yelling over her shoulder. “Vivian! Your friend is here!” 

No reply came. Joan grit her teeth. “Could you try fetching her? I can hold the baby, if you need.”

“Fine, take her.” The baby was shoved unceremoniously into Joan's arms and she continued her loud, high-pitched shrieks as Pearlanne stormed up the stairs. "Get her to shut up, if you can."

Joan looked down at the infant, recalling that her name was Tabitha - Vivian called her Tabby sometimes. Joan didn't envy the poor child her parents, and Vivian always spoke of Tabitha with pity. Vivian had told her that Tabitha cried inconsolably for hours, to the endless irritation of her parents and great-grandmother. We're born to misery, Vivian had always joked. Tabitha did seem terribly miserable for such a small human, and her scrunched-up face was red and blotchy from the effort of crying. Even as an infant, the girl looked unmistakably like a Scarlet. 

Joan was never one to believe in "blood curses" or whatever nonsense it was that Sybil and Vivian whispered about, and she figured there had to be a reason for the evident pain Tabitha was experiencing. She adjusted Tabitha in her arms, and noticed that the child's abdomen was swollen and hard to the touch. Tabitha's screams reached a crescendo when Joan gently pressed on it, her tiny fists flailing and her back arching in pain. The poor thing was colicky, and probably in discomfort from the trapped gas. There wasn't much to be done about the colic, but it might be possible to make her a little more comfortable.

Joan gently laid the baby against her shoulder and rocked gently back and forth, “Shh, it’s alright, sweetie.” 

Patting her back gently, she whispered soothing phrases to the infant and stroked her wispy blonde hair. A few minutes passed and Tabitha burped, and her cries softened into whimpers. She sat down, careful not to make any sudden movement that might startle Tabitha, and felt a rush of pride at soothing the baby. Joan swallowed harshly, blinking back the sudden and unexpected tears that sprang to her eyes. Tabitha was so… small and delicate, at the mercy of the world. It reminded Joan of her parents in their final days, and her own baby, who would be born even smaller and more delicate. Could she even do this on her own? Should she even try?

Pearlanne came back then, holding her arms out expectantly, and Joan carefully transferred Tabitha back to her mother. “Is Vivian coming?”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Pearlanne sniffed. “Now, get.”

That didn't sound like Vivian. The pit of dread returned. “What? Why not?” 

Pearlanne scowled harder. “How am I supposed to know? She’s been in one of her moods.”

Joan took a deep breath and counted to ten, then turned to leave. As the massive Scarlet doors began to swing shut, she called out, “I think she’s colicky.”

“What?” the other woman snapped.

Joan had never liked Pearlanne, but... This was about the baby. “Your kid – Tabitha, right? I think it’s colic. There’s not a lot you can do but burping her and giving her warm baths can help with her discomfort. Maybe a pacifier. She should grow out of it, but if she doesn’t, feel free to bring her down to the clinic.”

“…Thanks.” So much resentment dripped off the word that it hardly felt genuine, but she’d done what she could.

She got back in her truck and headed back down the hill, forcing herself not to look back over her shoulder, at the window where she knew Vivian’s room was. 

***

By 20 weeks, it was getting harder to hide her pregnancy, but Joan didn’t want the rest of the town knowing her business. Or asking about the father, which was question she wasn't sure how she should answer - it wasn't their business either, anyway. A little over two months had passed since her visit to the Scarlet Estate, and Vivian still hadn’t reached out, despite her increasingly worried messages. Vivian wasn’t the type to just ice someone out like that without at least telling them what happened. And she wouldn't ice out Joan. They'd been friends too long, even when Joan left for college and then med school. If she were sick, Joan wished she’d come down to the clinic. If she were in trouble, Joan wished she would just call her. They’d figure it out together, whatever it was. 

She walked down to the general store, which left her out of breath. It would seem odd if she drove such a short distance, though. The bell above the door jingled merrily as she entered. 

Sybil was behind the counter, looking content and sipping a cup of tea, the scent of turmeric in the air. “Hello, Joan.”

“Good morning, Sybil.” After greeting the other woman, she browsed through the aisles, picking up a few quick meals. She had never had much time to cook, or even really learn, and since she’d become pregnant, she’d been too tired anyway. The mind-numbing exhaustion was the worst part. She barely made it to bed at night, often passing out on the couch watching television at the end of the day. Once she'd fallen asleep working on notes in the clinic and woke up with a terrible crick in her neck. It wasn't help either by the fact that the baby had started kicking, which hurt more than she ever thought it could, and it seemed like he preferred to kick at the most inopportune times. The nausea had not gotten better either, despite her OBGYN frequent reassurances that it would go away "any day now." What she could eat was severely limited to what wouldn't make her throw up the instant she smelled it. She'd had very few cravings, though the few she did have were a bit odd. She supposed liver wasn't the worst craving that she could have, if only the strong scent of it didn't make her retch. 

Once she finished her shopping, she approached the register. 

Sybil watched her with a knowing smile that set Joan’s teeth on edge. “I think our children will be good friends.”

“Excuse me?” Joan hadn’t told anyone she was pregnant, certainly not Sybil. And she’d been careful to wear loose, layered clothes to hide the growing bump. 

Sybil smiled softly. “Your secret is safe with me, but do feel free to stop by for a cup of tea if you ever need to chat. Mothers should stick together.”

She sighed. Sybil had an uncanny way of guessing things with annoying accuracy, ever since they were children. “I don’t need to chat. I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be alone, dear. It takes a village, after all,” Sybil replied gently, but she didn’t press the issue further to Joan's relief. 

As she gathered her bags, a thought struck her. Vivian had always gotten along with Sybil, treating her almost like an older sister. “Have you seen Vivian lately. I haven’t heard from her in months.”

Sybil nearly dropped the jar of sauce in her hand, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She quickly caught the jar, setting it safely in the bag. After a slightly too-long pause, she looked Joan in the eye. “Oh, dear… she didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Joan’s mouth went dry. Not much unnerved Sybil, and that was enough to scare her. “Is she okay?”

There’s a long silence as Sybil considered something. Finally, she confessed, “A few weeks ago, Vivian came to me and told me she was pregnant. She was in a terrible state, though I’m not sure what she was so afraid of. I tried to soothe her as best I could. And then Pearlanne came in a few days ago and complained that her sister had run off. I haven't heard from her since. I'm sorry.”

Joan gripped the counter with both hands, suddenly light-headed. What had frightened Vivian so much that she ran off without a word? Why hadn’t she come to Joan for help?

“I’m sorry,” Sybil says, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. “I thought you knew. The two of you were always close. Why don’t you sit and rest for a bit? I’ll have Miles drive you home once you feel better. You shouldn't be walking so much in your condition.”

She jerked back, uncomfortable with the comfort. “No, I’m fine. I just need some air.”

“Call me when you get home.” Sybil rounded the counter, insisting on walking Joan to the door. “If I don’t hear from you, Miles and I will come looking.”

“I’ll be fine, Sybil.” 

The whole way back, Joan’s mind ran amuck with possibilities. Had Vivian eloped? Had her grandmother threatened her? Had she been thrown out? Why hadn’t she said anything? Joan would have helped her. Hell, she could have moved into the clinic with her, and they could have raised their children together. She never would have made her do this alone. Maybe Vivian meant to call when she was safe. 

But... Joan didn’t think she would hear from her again. The realization was a lonely one. She'd never realized how few friends she'd had before. Vivian had always been enough.

She rested hand over her abdomen. “I guess it’s just us, Reese.”

The name slipped off her tongue easily, though she hadn't really thought about what she would call him before. She hadn't wanted to think about him, because what if this was a mistake? But the name felt right. There was a fluttering feeling in response, and she fancied he'd understood her, though she knew that was ridiculous. Still, it was a comfort to know she wasn't really alone. 

***

When it was time, Joan drove herself to the hospital. She ignored the nurses’ pitying glances when she asserted that no one would be accompanying her into the delivery room. The labor went surprisingly smoothly for a baby that had just sort of happened on his own. When they handed him to her, wrapped in a white hospital blanket, she was afraid of what she might see. It was ridiculous to expect that he would have horns or cloven hooves, but then so was having a baby from a dream. She braced herself, but…

He had ten tiny, perfect fingers, and ten tiny, perfect toes. No horns, just a soft tuft of black hair, thicker than she expected on a newborn. His face was red and wrinkly. A warm feeling swelled in her chest as she stared down at her son, his tiny features a mirror of her own. He was so small and so frail, but she could protect him. She could keep him safe from the world. 

She hadn't thought that his conception was possible, or that she would ever be a mother with how busy she was. She hadn't thought her friendship with Vivian would come to a sudden end after nearly three decades. Just five minutes ago, she hadn’t believed in love at first sight. Now that had gone out the window with all the other things she thought she knew. 

She cradled her son in her arms and made a silent vow to always take care of him, no matter what. 

Chapter Text

Joan parked in front of the Richmonds’ house and walked purposefully to their door, knocking. There was the sound of life inside – small feet running toward the door and a woman calling out in warning to “stop running, Stella, you’re going to fall!” The door swings inward and Stella Richmond grinned up at her through the screen, a gap where her top front tooth had been when Joan dropped Reese off that morning. 

The girl proudly presented the bloodied central incisor. With a slight lisp, she boasted, “Look, Dr. Kelly! My loose tooth fell out!”

Joan knelt down in front of her, dutifully examining the tooth. “That’s very exciting, Stella. Is the tooth fairy visiting you tonight?”

“Of course!” Stella enthused, pulling the tooth back to her chest. “And I’m going to catch her, 'cause I got a lot of questions! Like what does she do with all the teeth”

Before Joan could respond, another voice caught her attention. “Mommy!”

Reese ran into her arms, hugging her tightly, as if she'd been gone for days and not hours. When she stood up to greet Stella's mother, he clung to her pant leg. “Hey, Jennifer. Thanks for watching Reese today - I feel like I'm always asking you to babysit.”

“It's no problem at all, Joan. He's a sweet kid, and Stella is so fond of him," Jennifer reassured her. Over her shoulder, she called, “Kaneeka, honey, Dr. Kelly is here to drive you home.”

Kaneeka shuffled forward shyly from deeper in the house. “Thank you for having me, Dr. Richmond.”

“It was our pleasure! Thank you for coming to visit,” Jennifer replied warmly. She rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Stella, honey?”

“Thanks for coming over to play!” Stella wrapped both Reese and Kaneeka in a tight hug. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow at school. Bye, Dr. Kelly!”

Everyone finished their last round of goodbyes and Joan shuffled the kids into the truck before driving through town to drop Kaneeka off at the general store with her father. As she parked on the street, Miles came out to greet them, and Kaneeka waited no longer than for Joan to shift the truck into park to unbuckle her seatbelt and leap out of the vehicle into her father’s waiting arms. Miles caught her easily and spun her around before setting her down. 

“Oh, it does me good to see my little girl after a long day.” He ruffled Kaneeka’s hair, and she giggled. They made a happy picture. 

Joan’s smile faded as she turned away from Miles and Kaneeka. Reese had been watching them too, with a pensive look on his face. At least, as pensive as a 6-year-old could look. She quickly excused herself and helped Reese back into the truck, checking that his seatbelt was tightly secured.

As she slid into the driver’s seat, she made a suggestion. “Why don’t we eat at the diner tonight?”

“Really?” Reese perked right up at that. “Could I get a milkshake?”

“Sure, why not?” She caught a glimpse of Reese smiling in her rearview and relaxed. Since Reese started school, she’d been worried that he’d notice that their family was different from his friends’. Luckily, Father’s Day didn’t fall during the school year, and she had been able to continue pretending it didn’t exist. She knew she couldn’t put that discussion off forever, but it was best if he didn’t know he was different for now. After all, what could she say that wouldn’t just confuse him?

The diner was packed as much as anywhere in Scarlet Hollow got packed. Winnie smiled apologetically, when they sat down and brought out some paper and well-loved crayons to occupy Reese while they waited.

“Did you have fun at Stella’s house today?” she asked as he began coloring, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth.

“Yeah,” he said absently. “Stella’s mommy is really busy, but she let us come with her to the shelter and we got to play with the puppies.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!”

He shrugged, frowning a bit. “Kind of. They were cute, but I don’t think they liked me. They kept hiding from me whenever I tried to pet them.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sure they’re just shy,” she assured him.

Reese shrugged again. “They didn’t hide from Neeka.”

“Well, maybe Kaneeka just has a talent with animals,” Joan suggested. “Like you with your drawing. Can I see what you made?”

Reese looked down bashfully, burying his face in his jumper. He slid his paper over her, and she picked it up and studied it carefully. It was a tall figure with dark hair and blue eyes, wearing what looked like a white coat. A smaller figure was perched on a grey rectangle. “Is that… me, tucking you into bed?”

He shook his head, a few strands of his dark black hair falling into his eyes. Instinctively, she reached to brush them out of his face as he corrected her. “No, it’s you with a patient! You’re making him all better.”

Affection and gratitude bloomed in her chest. There were many times Joan felt guilty for how many hours she worked, and how much time Reese spent at the Richmonds’ or the Forsyths’ houses after school. But she was endlessly grateful that her son understood and was proud of it.

The diner bell rang again, and this time everyone turned to face the newcomers. It was the Scarlets: Edwardina, Pearlanne, and Tabitha. No one had seen them out and about since Pearlanne’s husband skipped town a few weeks ago, with only Pearlanne leaving the estate to work at the mines, and presumably Tabitha to attend school. The two women glared at everyone in the room, daring anyone to breathe a word. No one did. Behind them trailed Tabitha, who, in contrast to her caregivers, shrank in on herself, hunching her shoulders and avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. She looked uncomfortable in her dress, which seemed ill-suited to a child of seven years. Compared to Reese’s jumper and jeans, Tabitha looked like she more likely to attend a cotillion than the second grade.

Reese watched Tabitha carefully as she passed their table, practically cowering in her mother’s shadow. “Mommy, is Tabby sad because her daddy left?”

“Who told you that?” She avoided the town gossip herself, and she doubted that the Forsyths or Richmonds would talk about such things in front of the kids. She never left Reese with anyone else.

Reese’s face flushed. “The teachers were talking about it. Sorry I eavesdropped. I didn’t mean to – I was tying my shoe at recess, and they were talking about it.”

Joan pinched the bridge of nose, wishing the teachers would keep their gossiping to their lounge. “I imagine she is very sad about it, but you shouldn’t say anything to her or anyone else. It’s not nice to nose around in people’s business. And it’s not gentlemanly to eavesdrop.”

“Sorry,” Reese mumbled. 

Then his milkshake arrived, and all was forgotten.

***

Joan should have known to never underestimate a small child’s timing, because Reese sprang the question on her the following morning while she was helping him zip up his jacket, about five minutes before they had to leave. She wasn’t sure what brought it on exactly. Perhaps it seeing his friends with their fathers, or all the talk of Tabitha Scarlet losing hers. Perhaps it was just inevitable that he would ask, and six was as good an age as any. “Why don’t I have a daddy?” 

Despite having six years to prepare for the question, Joan felt her spine stiffen. What could she say to him? She hadn’t even told him where babies came from yet, and how was she supposed to explain an absent father without making him believe he had been unwanted? She wished, not for the first time, that her son was a little less observant. 

Reese flinched and quickly backpedaled, squeaking out a hurried, “I’m sorry.”

It was tempting to brush off the question. But then she thought of the way everyone had stared at Tabitha yesterday, and the gossiping teachers. If she put this off, he’d hear it at school, and children could be terribly cruel. She could tell him now and keep this under control. She could shape how he saw it, make sure it didn’t hurt him. “No, it’s alright, Reese. You just… surprised me. Did someone say something to you at school?”

“No.” He shook his head, then brushed his bangs out of his eyes. “I just wondered how come I didn’t have a daddy. Stella and Kaneeka have one.”

Joan struggled for the right words. “You do have a father. He’s just… not around.”

Reese bit his lip. “Did he leave us, like Tabby’s daddy did? Didn’t he love us? Kaneeka’s daddy loves her a lot.”

“No, sweetie, he… he didn’t know I was going to have you.” He looked so confused that it killed her. She had to make him understand. “You were a surprise. A good one, but your father left before I even knew you were coming.”

“Why didn’t he come back for us?” Reese pressed, looking distraught.

“After he left, I didn’t have any way to contact him. He doesn’t know about you.” It wasn’t a lie. How did one contact a dream? Reese still looked troubled, so she added, “I’m sure he’d have loved you as much as I do.”

That wasn’t a lie either. Reese was the sweetest, kindest, and most sensitive little boy. He was impossible not to love.

Reese considered this, then nodded. “Okay, Mommy.”

An immense feeling of relief washed over her. She kissed the crown of his head and adjusted his jacket. “Are you ready for school?”

***

Joan had offered to pick the kids up after school on Fridays, since she closed the clinic early to complete paperwork. As she pulled up to the school, she saw Tabitha outside waiting for her mother, looking far dourer than a second grader should. Joan rolled down her window. “Tabitha, is your mother coming to get you? Do you want me to call her?”

Part of Joan hated that she still had the Scarlet landline memorized, even though she hadn’t saved it in her new cellular phone. 

Tabitha shook her head, not looking her in the eye. “Mom’s on her way.”

Joan felt for the girl. She only ever saw her when her mother brought her in, reluctantly, for her required vaccinations, though she avoided wellness visits unless Tabitha was seriously ill. Tabitha was probably the only child in the holler who never took a sticker, though Joan had caught her glancing longingly at the basket. She tried to set aside a few that were popular with the kids when the Scarlets did schedule an appointment and slip them in with the bag she sent home, though Tabitha spoke so little during her appointments that it was impossible to tell what the girl liked. 

She sighed and continued to the pickup line, where she collected Reese and his friends. The drive was pleasant, with the three kids in the back chattering about their school day and their plans for the weekend. Stella had gotten 50 cents for her tooth and was dreaming of the increasingly unrealistic ways she was going to spend it. 

After dropping off Kaneeka and Stella off, she returned to their home, unlocking the clinic side and flipping on the lights. Reese followed her in and waited patiently until she set her bag down to ask for his drawing pad and colored pencils. As she completed her clinical notes, Reese sprawled out on the floor of her office, working enthusiastically on his own project. 

After a while, he tapped on her shoulder, and she spun around in her office chair. “Yes?”

“I made this for you,” he said quietly, and handed her a page torn from his pad. “It’s our family.”

Reese was significantly better with his pencils than the stubby crayons at the diner, and the two figures he had drawn were much more detailed. A tall woman with her dark hair pulled back and a little boy in a blue jumper. She smiled. “It’s perfect. How did I get so lucky with such a talented kid like you?”

He stared at his sneakers shyly and shrugged. 

“Thank you, Reese. I’ll put it where I can see it all the time.” Pulling out a tack from her corkboard, she pinned the drawing above her desk. As unconventional as it was, their family was pretty perfect.

Chapter Text

It seemed like yesterday when Reese was starting to walk and talk, and other parents in town were gleefully warning Joan of the “Terrible Twos,” which would allegedly turn her child into a terrible monster. With only a small amount of smugness, Joan had been glad to inform them that her son was a model toddler: sweet, affectionate, and with the mildest temperament. Like any small child struggling to exist in a world that seemed far too big to him, he has days where he would cry over which cup she gave him or that the pajamas he wore thousands of times before were suddenly too itchy. But Joan could count on one hand the number of true meltdowns Reese had and was easily distracted with cuddles afterward. 

So, Joan was not particularly impressed with the warnings about Reese’s fast-approaching “teenage angst.” Changes were to be expected, of course, but she highly doubted he would into the “monster” she was yet again being warned about. However, as Reese grew older, she had noticed some odd changes along the expected ones. After his baby teeth fell out, his canines grew back noticeably sharper, though his dentist didn’t seem too concerned. More recently, his ears had taken on an elfish appearance, and his nails became thicker and longer, no matter how often she tried to file them down. He’d begun fidgeting and squirming in his seat more recently to the point that teachers had mentioned it to her, and when asked, Reese complained of a “writhing” under his skin. They’d tried over-the-counter topical medications, which never seemed to do much good. She’d begun to worry that he had some sort of condition, like psoriasis, though that would be treatable. His pediatrician had seemed baffled by the symptoms though, and after she’d caught him scratching himself raw, she booked appointments with several specialists, who recommended so much testing that Joan was starting to get sick of seeing her son treated like a pincushion. 

There had been no leads yet, and she was anxiously waiting on the results of the latest round of testing. In the meantime, Joan closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as she read the denial letter for the heart medication she’d ordered for one of her patients, a stubborn old farmer with a family history of heart disease, presenting with heart palpitations. It had taken a two-hour one-sided conversation and intervention from his wife to convince the man that he needed to take the damn meds, and the insurance company denied it. She’d have to write an appeal, but before she could start drafting it, her phone rang. With a sigh, she picked it up and answered. 

“Ms. Joan Kelly?” asked a chirpy female voice on the other end of the line. 

“It’s Dr. Kelly,” she corrected firmly. She’d learned long ago that if she wasn’t firm about that, people tended to treat her like some sort of hysterical mother. “But yes, that would be me.”

“Alrighty, ma’am, I’m just calling you about the lab results for your son, Reese Kelly. Could you just confirm his date of birth for me?”

She does so, then asks, “So, what did you find?”

“Well, it’s good news. Your son tested negative for every condition we were looking for!” The woman sounded congratulatory about it, and Joan decided that she must be either very young and inexperienced, very dense, or both. 

Of course it was a good thing Reese hadn’t tested positive for anything serious yet, but that also meant that he could have some awful unknown condition. It wasn’t like she could call up his father for a medical history, and in the meantime, Reese’s symptoms remained. 

She sighed. “Yes, that’s good news, but… could you send me a copy of the results? I want to look over them myself and send a copy to his pediatrician.”

“Of course, ma’am,” she replied. 

Joan confirmed her fax number and waited impatiently for the results to arrive. Unfortunately, they were exactly as they should be – entirely negative, with no clues as to what was causing her son’s problems. She went ahead and forwarded the results to his pediatrician in Brevard and slipped her copy into a manila folder labelled with his name.  

She opened up a new file and started writing her patient’s appeal. 

***

The basement door slammed shut so violently that the entire house shook. A few minutes later, the sound of industrial music was blasting through the house. Reese was in a bad mood today, which seemed more and more common since he’d turned twelve. If she’d been concerned about the extra physical changes, she was even more baffled by the temperamental ones. Most were manageable. Reese spent more time with his friends than at home or the clinic and started answering the question “how was school today?” with a grunt and a shrug. Sometimes she missed his company when she was completing her notes, but she understood that growing young man might prefer playing in the woods with his friends to sitting in his mother’s office. At ten, he’d asked to move from his childhood room into the basement, which he decorated to his new tastes, but she hadn’t expected him to stay five forever, either. 

What hadn’t been expected were the sudden intense mood swings and withdrawal. Reese was sullen most of the time, and seemed reluctant to spend time with her, preferring to remain locked away in his room. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it could have been – to her knowledge, Reese wasn’t out drinking and smoking in condemned buildings, but Joan still thought he would at least wait until he was thirteen to hit the “everything sucks” phase.

Joan gritted her teeth at the electronic clanging that was emanating from the basement of their house. She didn’t understand how he was able to blast that noise without going deaf, let alone enjoy it. But… she was certain her parents had been annoyed with her own choices of music, and it wasn’t really hurting anything. She tried to ignore it and focus on the dishes, but as the minutes ticked by, the pounding in the basement translated to a pounding in the back of her skull and she couldn’t take it anymore. She marched over to the basement door and gave three sharp knocks, loud enough to be heard over the drums and keyboard from downstairs. “Reese! Keep it down, please!”

There was no acknowledgement that he had heard her. She rubbed her temples, trying to fight back the migraine that had been developing all day to no avail. She opened the door and descended into the basement where Reese sat cross-legged on the floor in front of a canvas that he was painting aggressively, not even glancing up at her. She reached over and turned down his speakers to a more reasonable level, which got his attention. He quickly moved to block her view of the canvas. “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Reese, how many times do I have to ask you to keep it down?” she demanded. “I don’t care if you want to listen to that racket, but keep it confined to your own room, please. I can hear you clearly from the kitchen.”

He dragged a hand through his hair and avoided her gaze. “Can you just leave me alone for five minutes?!”

“You’ve been blasting that noise you listen to for the past half-hour, so don’t you take that tone with me.” Joan’s temper had started to rise. She tried not to nag him, but if she had to listen to another second of his racket, she was going to blow. “If you don’t start using your speakers at a reasonable volume, I’m going to take them away from you.”

“Just get out!” Something in Reese snapped then, and something… happened. Reese seemed to grow several inches taller, almost looming to her height, and his mouth looked wrong. There were too many teeth, and they were too sharp, and his eyes seemed to have an almost manic glint. A cold dread filled her stomach, and she took a few involuntary steps backward. Then, just as suddenly, she blinked and it was her son again, red-faced and panting. 

The violent fury shifted into confusion as he stared back at her, then a horrified realization sank into his features. His blue eyes, so much like her own, turned tearful, and he shoved past her and darted upstairs. Joan stood still, unsure of what had just happened. 

She didn’t know how long she stood in the basement, staring at the spot where Reese had been. His unfinished painting lay on the ground, a half-completed figure cowering before… something. He hadn’t gotten that far, she supposed. She thought back to his face in that moment – the teeth, the eyes… He’d looked like he was ready to kill her, but that wasn’t Reese. It had to be a hallucination, but then she’d thought his conception a dream. Maybe whatever had just happened had just been a one-off – she caught him at the wrong time. 

She walked up the stairs slowly and searched his usual hiding spots until she found him on the hill behind their house, knees pulled up to his chest. She climbed the hill and sat down next to him. Neither of them spoke a word for several minutes. What could either of them say? This was unmapped territory. She couldn’t remember them ever fighting before. Sure, he’d tried to convince her to extend his bedtime, or begged for a treat, but she couldn’t recall them arguing. He had never looked like he was going to hurt her before, and none of their previous disagreements had ever left this uneasiness between them. 

Finally, Joan broke the silence. “Hey.”

Reese stared at the tree line in silence. The setting sun illuminated his face, which still had all the cherubic quality of childhood. His cheeks were tear-streaked from where he’d been crying. How had she been afraid of him, her own son, even for a moment? 

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and he resisted for a just a moment before leaning into her with a sigh. “You know, we haven’t really done anything together in a while. I was thinking about a movie marathon, since it’s not a school night. You can pick. Whatever you want.” When he didn’t take the bait, she added, “We can make popcorn.”

Reese tried to hold out but folded anyway. “Anything I want?”

She nodded, knowing she had just agreed to some experimental Japanese horror flick that she had never heard of and would barely follow. But Reese looked a little more cheerful, and that was the goal. Whatever had happened earlier, they could move past it. 

***

They set up camp in Reese’s room, where she had moved their old TV after he’d become obsessed with foreign films, with each of them sat on a beanbag chair and a bowl of popcorn between them. The movie Reese had chosen was, in fact, one she had never heard of before and one which she could not follow, which she was pretty sure was not her fault. It jumped between various scenes, seemingly at random, and the shaky camera made her nauseous. Reese excitedly explained the plot to her, despite the fact that the story he was telling and the one on screen did not seem related at all. Still, it was nice to see him so excited about something again, and she wasn’t really watching the movie anyway. 

About three movies in, Reese’s rapid-fire narration had slowed to a crawl, punctuated by yawns. The popcorn bowl, long since empty, had been moved to the side and his head was repeatedly starting to droop to her shoulder. Once, she would have simply scooped him up and tucked him into bed, but he’d reach the point years ago where she could no longer lift him. Reluctantly, she roused him and sent him off to bed. He insisted that he wasn’t tired, which was undercut by a massive yawn. 

He fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, and Joan lingered a moment, watching him. It felt like the years had gone by so fast, and soon he would graduate high school and go out into the world on his own. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and tucked him in before heading upstairs to her own room. 

The following morning, she made a phone call to Jennifer Richmond, hoping that Reese had said something to Stella regarding what was bothering him. Stella was a chatterbox, unable to keep a secret, and would certainly have told her mother, given how close the two were. “Hey, Jennifer.”

“Morning, Joan!” the other woman responded cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

Joan had always appreciated how straight to the point Jennifer was. Quite a few residents of the Holler would’ve taken her phone call as permission to talk her ear off before they finally got around to the point of the call in the first place. “I was just wondering if Stella had said anything to you about Reese being bullied at school.”

“She hasn’t said anything at all, why? Is someone bothering him?” Jennifer’s voice took a sympathetic bent. “I really hope that’s not the case. He’s such a quiet boy, I can’t imagine anyone would go out of their way to upset him. I don’t think he even talks to anyone but the girls.”

“No, but… he’s been different since he started middle school,” Joan admitted. “He’s very withdrawn and he just seems so angry all the time. I was just wondering if he’d said anything at your house – he hardly talks to me these days.”

“I know what you mean. Stella is always off in the woods with Gretchen and the other kids, doing their little nature videos these days. I feel like just yesterday she was always begging to come to the pound with me.” She sighs wistfully. “They sure grow up fast, don’t they?”

“He just seems so unlike himself,” Joan insisted. “Yesterday, he just started yelling at me, and –” She broke off. How could she explain what had happened to Jennifer? She would sound insane, and besides, what mother was scared of her twelve-year-old? And it had scared her. 

There was a long quiet on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, Joan. I know we never really talk about it, but it must be tough, raising a teen boy all on your own. Especially when you have such a demanding job. If I can ever do anything to help…”

“We’re fine,” she insisted again. “I just thought maybe some kids at school were picking on him. That’s all. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Jennifer sighs. “Let me know if I can help with anything.”

***

A few days later she made liver for dinner – Reese’s favorite – in hopes of cheering him up. Since the incident, Reese had kept his music down and gone out of his way to help around the house, but he was still clearly miserable. For her part, she’d tried not to nag him.  Despite their movie night, there was an uneasiness between them now. He shoved his salad around on his plate with his fork listlessly. Joan watched him warily out of the corner of her eye.

“Mom?” he asked hesitantly, looking conflicted. “Can I… ask a question?”

“Of course,” she assured him, a bit too hurriedly. “What do you need?”

He didn’t immediately respond, giving her a wary look. “What was… my dad like?”

It caught her off-guard. He hadn’t asked about his father in years. “He was… romantic. And sweet, like you.”

“That’s it?” He sounded disappointed, though there wasn’t much more she could give him. “Do you miss him at all?”

Joan considered the question carefully. She decided honesty was her best bet for now. “No, I don’t. But I’m grateful to him. He gave me you.”

“Why don’t you miss him?” Reese asked, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“I just… don’t.” The dream had been very sweet and romantic, but it would have been ridiculous to say she’d been in love. She’d been lonely, and that was that. “I’m happy with our family the way it is.”

He frowned. “Did he leave because of me?”

“Honey, he didn’t know about you.” A niggling doubt began to trouble her. Maybe he was being bullied after all. “Why do you think he would leave because of you?”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Come on, Mom. I’m a freak.”

A wave of cold anger rolled through her. “Who said that to you?”

“No one has to. I can tell that they’re all thinking it.” he spat, and to Joan’s horror, the changes she had seen last night returned. He seemed to grow a few inches, his teeth sharpened, and his eyes seemed to glow. His voice seemed distorted as he continued, “I have fangs and claws! I look like Nosferatu!”

“Reese, you are not a freak. You are my son, and I love you.” She put her hands firmly on his shoulders, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “Listen to me. Your father and I weren’t meant for each other. He left before you were born. I would not lie to you.”

He didn’t calm down and the strange features didn’t go away, but they didn’t get worse either.

“The lab called me today. You have… a genetic condition. We don’t know much about it, but that’s what’s going on. We can manage it.” An idea struck her then. There was something she needed to know. “We just have a little more testing to do. Then you’re done.”

He looked skeptical, but the promise of no more testing seemed to mollify him somewhat. “That’s it? No more tests?”

She cringed inwardly. What she was about to do was in flagrant violation of just about every ethics code she had learned in med school. But Reese couldn’t know what he was. He’d think he was a monster. And no specialist was going to help with that. She could manage it, make sure he never knew that he was different. She could do that for him. “That’s it. I promise.”

Chapter Text

Reese’s file was spread out in front of Joan as she flipped through her notes on his condition, which were starting to overtake the more typical documents – vaccination records, his birth certificate, and other “normal” medical documents. The Klonopin prescriptions especially were getting out of hand. He was at double the dosage that he should be taking, and there were absolutely no side effects. None. She should be grateful for that, but… it should have been impossible. For the most part, at least, it did seem to keep his symptoms under control, but she couldn’t keep ordering this much – she’d already had to falsify records to get this far. She didn’t just risk losing her license; she could be arrested for this, and then what would happen to Reese? They had no other family to take him in, and if the state put him in a foster home and he changed in front of them…

That could never happen. They wouldn’t understand. 

She needed to find another solution. She could not increase the dosage again, and Reese’s tolerance was insanely high. It might not work much longer anyway. 
 
Around three that afternoon, there was a knock at Joan’s office door. She glanced up to see Reese in the doorway. He’d sprung up like a weed in the past two years, until he was very nearly taller than her. “Hey, doc, I was going to go hang out with Stella and Kaneeka, if that’s alright?”

His cheeks pinkened slightly at Kaneeka’s name, and under different circumstances she might have been thrilled. Kaneeka was smart and hard-working, with a good head on her shoulders. But as things currently were… Was it smart? Was it safe for Kaneeka? What if they fought, was Reese capable of hurting her? Would Kaneeka love him back, if she knew what he was? Her lips pressed into a thin line. She couldn’t just keep him home, however much she’d like to. “That’s… fine. Be back before dinner. You know I don’t want you kids running around in the woods in the dark. You could get hurt, and it could be a while before anybody finds you.”

“Thanks, doc!” He brightened considerably, and her shoulders relaxed, just a little. He really was such a good boy. “We’ll be careful.”

“Good, and stay away from the North Pike trail,” she warned as he made his escape. When he didn’t respond, she repeated her warning. “I’m serious, Reese! It’s not safe — the county should have closed that area off.”

“Uh huh!” he called out over his shoulder as he left the clinic. She forced herself not to drag him back and make him swear up and down to stay off that damned trail only because there were patients in the waiting room. No need for them to make a scene.

One of her patients snorted and cast her a wry glance. “Teenagers, huh? Kids think they know everything.”

She shrugged in response. It put her on edge to watch him go. Stella was a good girl, but she was so reckless, and Reese was always following along. She was certain that if Stella and Kaneeka jumped off a bridge, Reese would too.

Joan shoved the thought from her mind. The kids would be fine. They played in the woods all the time. Besides, she had work to do.

***

Dinner was on the table at five-thirty, and Reese still wasn’t back yet. By a quarter ‘til, she was considering grounding him for not even texting her that he might be late. At six, she called the Forsyths and the Richmonds, who both expressed concern, fretting that the girls hadn’t returned home either.

Joan grabbed a flashlight, and an emergency first aid kit and set off into the woods at six-thirty, heading straight for the North Pike trail. She sent a text to the other parents, certain that her instincts were right. She’d been a teenager once, too. Maybe it had been foolish to tell Reese to stay away from North Pike – it made it all the more tempting when it was forbidden.

After half an hour’s walk, a distraught Kaneeka ran to her, nearly knocking her over. “Kaneeka?”

Shining her flashlight, she could see that Kaneeka’s clothes were dirty, and her face was streaked with tears. “Dr. Kelly! Oh, thank god, Reese needs help!”

Her stomach dropped and she felt goosebumps despite the warm evening. “Kaneeka, what happened? Why didn’t you call for help?”

“We didn’t have reception, and it was dark, and we didn’t want to leave Reese alone…” Her voice trembled. “We’re really, really sorry, Dr. Kelly.”

She sighed, putting aside her fear and frustration. They were just kids. In a calm, but firm tone, she asked, “Where’s Stella? Is she safe?”

“She’s waiting for me to get help.” Kaneeka relaxed somewhat, seemingly relieved to pass the situation off to an adult. Kids always forgot that they were just that – kids. “Reese is conscious. He was talking to us. He said he couldn’t move.”

“Okay, show me where he is.” Kaneeka complied, leading Joan down the trail. Right to the bend where a recent landslide hand destabilized the ground. Of course. 

Stella was sitting on the ground with her knees pulled up to her chest. She startled when she noticed them approaching and jumped up. “Kaneeka! You found Dr. Kelly!”

“Stella, where’s Reese?” The question didn’t need a verbal response. Stella’s gaze drifted toward the cliff where Joan saw a mess of skid marks. It wasn’t hard to tell what had happened. It had been raining for days, and Reese had almost certainly slipped, unable to regain his balance.

She gave the girls a hard look. “Both of you, stay back. I’m going to see if I can find him.”

She inched toward the cliff and pointed her light at the bottom, her stomach dropping as she scanned the ground below for any sign of her son. It was at least a twenty-foot drop. “Reese? Can you hear me?”

“Mom?” His response was weak, but at least it meant he could respond.

“Are you hurt? Can you move?”

There was a brief pause. “My leg hurts a lot. I can’t move it.”

“Alright, sweetie, I need you to stay still. I’m going to try and find a way down to you.” She turned to Kaneeka and Stella. “I need you both to go back up the trail and contact your parents and 911. Can you do that?”

Stella didn’t respond, a blank expression on her face, but Kaneeka nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Once the girls had headed back up the trail, Joan started looking for a way down. She had to walk for a while to find a path down to Reese. The moment her feet touched solid ground, she ran to him.

He was pale and trembling when she reached him. She took his vitals — rapid heartbeat and quick, shallow breaths — and examined him for injury. Reese flinched when she ran a hand over his swollen thigh. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she suspected it was broken or at least fractured. “Reese, honey, I’m going to splint your leg. We need to keep it from moving too much until I can get you to the hospital.”

“Okay, Mom,” he said weakly.

Joan pulled out her first aid kit and got to work. This, at least, was something that she could handle. She was worried though. It was hard for her to get down here – would the EMTs be able to reach Reese? He didn’t seem to have any neck or spinal injuries, thankfully, but she couldn’t lift him herself anyway. She checked his vitals again. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live,” he joked. “Am I grounded?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your leg is probably broken, so you’ll be taking it easy until it heals. I think you’ll have learned your lesson by then, so there’s no need to ground you – you’ve done it pretty well to yourself.”

“Thanks, doc.” 

Joan continued her work while trying to think of a solution. Unfortunately, Reese seemed to catch on to the problem before she can solve it. “I don’t think I can walk, and you can’t carry me, Mom.”

“Don’t worry about that, Reese. I’ll figure something out.” She pulled off her jacket and draped it over him. “Here, you need to stay warm.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” he protested, trying to hand the jacket back to her, but she refused to take it. She was his mother, and what kind of doctor would she be if she let her patient get cold?

After a while, a familiar voice called down to them. “Reese? Joan?”

“We’re down here, Miles!” Joan responded, more than a little relieved. Miles was strong – he’d be able to lift Reese. She gave him careful instructions for how to reach the bottom of the cliff, and he promised to be down soon. 

After about ten minutes, he arrived. He frowned sympathetically at Reese. “Hey, buddy, you doing alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Reese said, wincing a bit as he tried to sit up. “Thanks for asking, Mr. Forsyth.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here,” he assured him. Turning to Joan, he added, “Sybil is with the girls, and Jennifer and David were heading over when I left. She thought you might need some help with your boy, so she sent me ahead to check on y’all. The ambulance is on its way.”

“Thanks,” Joan said. “We need to get him out of here. He should be alright to move, but… be careful, especially of his leg.”

Miles squeezed her shoulder, and she froze at the touch, trying not to jerk back. He was trying to make her feel better, and she appreciated the intention at least. “Don’t worry, Joan. I’ll treat him like my own – I remember how good you’ve always been with my kids.”

She nodded stiffly, trying not to glance at Reese. He didn’t need to know how nervous she was – it would only upset him, and… he hadn’t taken his Klonopin yet. “Alright. Okay.”

Miles gently lifted Reese, being cautious of his injured leg, though Reese still hissed in pain as he was jostled. Miles grimaced. “Sorry, Reese. I’m trying to be careful.”

“I know,” Reese assured him. 

They made the trip to the edge of the woods, where everyone was waiting. It was clear something had happened. Sybil, who was holding her four-year-old son, looked angrier than Joan had ever seen her, and Kaneeka was standing next to her looking miserable. The Richmonds watched on in concern, and Stella leaned against her father, who had an arm wrapped around her protectively. 

Kaneeka’s shoulders relaxed when she saw her father and she took a few eager steps forward before stumbling to a halt and casting a guilty glance at Reese. She bit her lip. “Reese, I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault. I should never have –”

“What are you talking about, Neeka?” Reese interrupted. “It was all of our dumb idea.”

Kaneeka sniffled. “But I knew better, and I still let you and Stella get too close to the edge!”

Jennifer opened her mouth, then shut it uncertainly, glancing between Miles and Sybil. 

“What is happening here?” Miles asked. “Kaneeka, honey, this was an unfortunate accident. It is not your fault.”

“She could have been killed, Miles.” Sybil’s voice had never been harsh as long as Joan had known her. She spoke softly, gently, her accent rounding out any sharp edges. But now there was steel in her voice, though it didn’t rise above its usual volume. “I’ve told her – you’ve told her – to be careful in these woods. Look what’s happened to poor Reese. That could have happened to her or Stella too.”

“It was my idea first,” Stella offered quietly. “I… I wanted to film there and…”

“This is not anyone’s fault,” Joan said. She rubbed her temple and sighed. “We all warned our kids, and none of them listened. There’s no point playing the blame game now – what’s done is done. Reese’s leg will heal, and I’m certain the kids will learn to be more careful in the future.” She looked at each of them in turn, and each teen nodded, with varying levels of vigorousness. 

Sybil’s face softened. “I just wish Kaneeka had been more mindful.”

“We’re all tired,” Miles reassured his wife. “Once the paramedics get here, we can head home.”

They waited in silence for the paramedics to arrive. Once they had, Reese was placed on a stretcher and Miles immediately pulled his daughter into a tight embrace. He whispered something to her that Joan didn’t hear, then wrapped an arm around Sybil’s waist, rubbing her back soothingly. Jennifer asked if Joan needed anything, but she assured her that she could take care of Reese from here, and the Richmonds quietly headed off, too exhausted to insist. Joan and Reese explained what had happened to the paramedics, and Joan was informed that she would have to drive separately. She hesitated at that. 

“I’ll be alright, doc,” Reese assured her. 

There wasn’t really a choice. She nodded, then said to Reese, “I’ll grab your paperwork and a change of clothes, in case they hold you overnight. And your toothbrush.”

“Could you grab my sketchbook too?” he asked hopefully. “The CT scans take forever.”

She squeezed his hand. “Of course. I’ll see you soon. Just… stay calm.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, Mom. I’ll stay calm.”

***

They were at the hospital for most of the night while scans and x-rays were taken. In between tests, Reese quietly drew in his sketchbook, occasionally allowing Joan to see it when she asked. She didn’t really understand his art anymore, but she had to admit he was skilled. Finally, a doctor came into the room, a young man who looked like he was fresh out of med school. “Hey, Reese, Mrs. Kelly—”

“Doctor Kelly,” Reese corrected quietly before Joan could say anything. He smiled brightly at her, and she gave his hand a squeeze. She didn’t need her son to stand up for her, but it was sweet of him anyway. 

The young doctor blinked. “Ah, yes, sorry. Well, folks, I have some bad news and some good news.”

The bad news: Reese was suffering from a femoral shaft fracture, which would require surgery to correct. Joan tried to signal for the doctor to leave the details as a vague as possible (or better yet, let her explain it to him), but unfortunately the doctor went into great detail about how they going to pin his bone back together. Reese’s face paled, and he turned to her. “Doc, do I have to?”

“If you want to be able to use that leg again,” Joan told him, shooting a glare at the doctor who rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I promise it won’t be as bad as it sounds. They’ll put you under anesthetics, so you won’t feel it at all.”

***

The good news turned out to be that Reese had suffered no other serious injuries, despite his fall, and he was able to return home the following day, after a recovery period with a prognosis that he'd be healed in six months. Joan understood why they couldn’t just wheel him back into surgery that night, but… it meant she had to go home without him. It worried her, thinking that something could happen, and she wouldn’t be there to prevent it. She made him promise to call her if he needed anything, and he had dutifully assured her that he would. Still, she barely slept that night and arrived at the hospital the moment visiting hours opened. 

The surgery went smoothly, though his anesthesiologist was baffled by his tolerance levels, and Reese returned home. Joan set him up in the living room as comfortably as she could. She forbade visitors for the first few days until he had settled in, but Sybil came by with the girls on the fourth day. 

“Good afternoon, Joan,” Sybil said, a pleasant smile on her face. “I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced, but everyone’s been very eager to hear how Reese is doing.”

The girls looked at her with big, pleading eyes, and she could hear Reese in the other room asking who was at the door. It probably wouldn’t hurt. “Alright. Just a short visit, though. He needs a lot of rest.”

“Thanks, Dr. Kelly!” Stella said as she hurried past Joan, Kaneeka on her heels. The ducked into the living room, leaving her alone with Sybil. 

Joan gestured for the other woman to enter and closed the door behind her. 

“Joan, dear, would you mind if we spoke privately?” Sybil asked, looking more than a little troubled. “I admit that I had an ulterior motive for tagging along with my daughter.”

She wasn’t sure she liked that, but she nodded. Maybe it was best to give the kids a little space anyway. “The clinic side is empty.”

Once they had moved the conversation into their office, Sybil said, “Joan, when you were pregnant, I reminded you that you needn’t do this alone. Now I’m pleading that you don’t.”

“What?” Joan scowled. “Are you trying to set me up with someone? Is that what this is about?”

“Of course not, dear,” she said, soothingly. “I only mean that I am aware of what Reese is, and in the interest of his well-being and others’, I wished to offer you a solution.”

Her blood ran cold. Sybil couldn’t know what Reese was. No one could. He was a normal kid most of the time. His DNA results had come back human. She kept on top of his Klonopin, and he hadn’t shifted once. Not that she’d seen.

But then, he was always going over to his friends’ houses. What if it had happened there? The realization sank in. This was her fault. She had wanted to let him have a normal life, and she had gotten careless. “Thank you, Sybil, but I can take care of my son. We don’t need your help.”

“We’re both women of medicine, Joan,” Sybil replies, her voice gentle. “Perhaps most get their healing from pills at a pharmacy now, but all those ingredients ultimately came from the earth. Aspirin and willow bark are the same, after all.”

“You are not a doctor,” Joan said, resting a hand on her hip. “Nor are you his mother. I appreciate your concern, but I do not need your advice. We’re handling it.”

“My grandmother had a recipe for such situations,” the other woman said mildly. "It's a fairly simple one, if you'll allow me to share it."

She scoffed at that. “I doubt tea and honey are going to help Reese.”

Insistently, Sybil continued. “It’s a remedy made from the seed of the castor plant--”

She knew what that was -- it was a deadly poison. It could cause, at worst, seizures and death.

“You want me to give my son ricin?!” she hissed. Her immediate instinct was to throw Sybil out, but then she’d have to throw the girls out, and then questions would be raised. Sybil’s placid expression suggested she was well aware of this, the snake. “Are you absolutely insane? That’s poison! I am not poisoning my son!”

Sybil furrowed her brow. “I won’t force you down this path, Joan. When you’re ready, come see me. You know where I am.”

The woman left on her own, stopping to remind Kaneeka to be home on time before breezing out of the house. Joan watched her go warily. She had no intention of letting Reese go over to Kaneeka’s house again – he could see his friend literally anywhere else. 

“Hey, Mom?” Reese asked her from his spot on the couch, surrounded by pillows. “Could Kaneeka and Stella stay for dinner? We wanted to watch a movie.”

She hadn’t planned on feeding two extra teenagers tonight, but… “Fine, I’ll see what we have for dinner.”

The kids thanked her, and she headed to the kitchen to see what there was to feed them all. As she searched the cabinets her eyes caught on the pills sent home from the hospital. They’d prescribed some heavy opioids, which seemed to have little effect. It didn’t bode well for the Klonopin. She really did need to find a solution to that soon. But for now, dinner. 

Chapter Text

Reese’ leg healed faster than anyone expected, except for Joan, who was starting to revisit his seemingly perfect health and resistance to injury as a child. To have no other injuries from his fall was more than just a minor miracle, and she suspected that he had been more seriously injured, but somehow his body had fixed itself up before she’d ever reached him. Which led her to wonder why his leg even took three months. Did his body simply run out of resources? Or was the healing merely limited? Either way, three months was an incredible recovery time for a broken femur at the severity he’d had. 

During that time, he’d been confined to the house, and disappointed to see his friends less than he liked. Kaneeka had started working at the general store with her parents, which seemed to be Sybil’s influence, as an attempt to “teach her some responsibility.” Joan suspected that the other mother wanted her daughter around Joan as much as Joan wanted her son around Sybil. Or perhaps it was bait, to convince her to give in to Reese’s pleas to go over to Kaneeka’s house. Even Stella had stopped coming around as much, though when she’d last spoke to Jennifer, she learned that was for an entirely different reason. Stella had apparently taken up theatre, since her usual playmates were unable to come out as much. 

All of that meant that once Reese was cleared to return to normal activity, there was no “normal activity” left. This made his transition to high school – already belated by the fact that he was homebound for half of his freshman semester – significantly worse. Joan tried to encourage him to branch out a bit socially, but Reese’s chronic shyness made it nearly impossible. Miles had offered to give him a part-time job at the general store to get him out of the house, but Joan had to refuse. She couldn’t risk Reese spending that much time where Sybil could get her claws on him. Reese had demanded to know why, and she cited his grades, saying that he needed to focus on school. 

His argument that it was only a few hours per week and Miles had agreed to let him work on his homework anytime they weren’t busy anyway was reasonable enough. Which made it worse when she had to play the mean mom and hold firm. It had led to the worse argument they’d had in years, and for the first time, she was afraid that he wouldn't just hurt her - he'd kill her. And he could, with teeth and claws like that. She'd had to use tranquilizers on him to calm him down. She knew he was a good kid, but he just couldn't get a handle on that temper of his, and what if something happened at school, or while he was out with the girls, and she wasn't there to calm him down? She was certain by now that he was being bullied in school, and she suspected it was Tabitha, though he refused to confirm or deny. She would speak to Pearlanne about it, if she was certain that miserable woman wouldn't just make the situation worse. Joan just... didn't know what to do anymore.  

Since their fight, Reese hadn't spoken a word to her in days. When he stormed through the house that afternoon, on the verge of tears, Joan decided that enough was enough. She knocked on the basement door. There was only silence in response. She apprehensively opened the door, descending into the basement, listening carefully for any kind of response. It felt like she was entering the lion’s cave, and she hated feeling that way about her own son. He was taller than her now, and she didn’t think she could handle him if he was throwing a regular tantrum, let alone a supernatural one. 

He was curled up on the bed, looking miserable. She took a few steps toward him and tried to lay a comforting hand on her, but he jerked away. “Reese, honey, what’s wrong?”

He shrugged, not looking at her. “Nothing.”

“Obviously, something is wrong, or you wouldn’t be lying on your bed in the middle of the afternoon,” she replied. She crossed her arms and waited for his response.

Reese rolled over. “I’m just tired, doc.”

“You’re lying to me.” She sighed and sat down at the foot of his bed. “Reese, I can’t fix it if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t fix it, anyway,” he snapped. “Kaneeka and Stella are busy, and no one else wants to hang out with me! So just leave me alone.”

Something had to be done. She had to get this under control, so that he could live a normal life again. There was the only way forward that she could see. The Klonopin wasn’t an option anymore, and she doubted she could switch to a drug that wouldn’t just cause the same problem. She couldn’t do nothing, not when his symptoms got worse with each transformation. He just got so angry, and what he hurt someone? He wasn’t a little kid anymore; he could do some real damage if he wanted. It was her job, as his mother, to love him and protect him, but wasn’t it also her job to keep him from hurting others?

***

“Good morning, Joan.” The bell about the door jingled as Joan entered the general store for the first time in months. “It’s been a while since we’ve last seen you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been too busy to do my shopping in person lately,” Joan replied curtly. She adjusted her coat and scanned for any sign of Miles or the kids. The store was empty. 

Sybil followed her gaze knowingly. “We’ve missed Reese too. Especially Kaneeka.”

Joan clenched her jaw at her son’s name. Reese missed Kaneeka too, and had been very upset with her refusal to let him stay the night at the Forsyths’ house with her and Stella last week. She’d had to feign concern over a boy-girl sleepover, though she hardly cared about that in reality. Teenagers would do what teenagers did, regardless of whether they were allowed to have “sleepovers” or not. “Kaneeka is more than welcome to come over and visit Reese.”

“I wouldn’t harm your son, Joan,” Sybil said. Her voice was gently, urging Joan to relax, but she tensed her shoulders instead. 

“You told me to come talk to you. Here I am.” As much as she was loathe to ask for Sybil’s help, she had no choice. She was out of options, and something needed to be done for Reese. He couldn’t continue to shift when he was angry – he was going to hurt someone one day. And Joan knew that if that happened, all anyone would see was a monster on a rampage. They wouldn’t see the boy that still made his mother Valentine’s cards, or who was always the first to check in on his friends when they were sad, or whose childhood family portrait was still pinned over her desk. They wouldn’t see Reese. 

Sybil led her back into the tea room, placing a “Back in 10 minutes” sign on the register. 

The tea room smelled sharply of herbs and spices, and there was an electric kettle alongside a collection of floral teacups in one corner of the room. A circular wooden table sat unassumingly under the window, draped with a lace table cloth. Woven tapestries decorated the walls. Joan’s mouth went dry when she recognized Ricinus communis – the caster bean plant – in one of the hanging baskets around the room. It was so casual and unassuming, but the little red berries contained ricin, a dangerous biotoxin that, when ingested orally, caused gastrointestinal distress, convulsions, vascular collapse, and death.

She tried not to think about that.

Sybil offered her a “calming tea,” but Joan couldn’t even think about drinking anything right now. Instead, she held the cup in her hands, taking some small comfort from the warmth, and letting it cool. She shouldn’t be here, accepting Sybil's offer to poison her son. It wasn’t too late – she could leave right now and forget she had even considered it. Except that she couldn’t, because there were no other options. None that she could live with, at least. It was awful and cruel, but she couldn’t bear losing him. And if she did nothing, she would lose him. It would only be a matter of time.

The two women sat there in an uneasy silence, Joan’s thoughts whirring as she considered all the ways this could blow up in her face. Sybil sipped her tea and watched her pityingly.

Finally the other woman spoke, “My daughter misses your son.”

Joan had never been one to mince words, and she didn’t plan on doing it now. “You can hardly expect me to send him to your house after you suggested poisoning him.”

Never mind that she was here to discuss the same thing. 

Sybil sighed. “I’m not the enemy, Joan. I want to help you. One mother to another.”

I don’t need your help. The words died before she ever breathed life into them. If she hadn’t needed help — if she hadn’t failed to do her job— she wouldn’t be here right now. Instead, she swallowed her pride. “I won’t kill him. I just… I need to help him suppress this side of him.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do so,” Sybil replied, sipping her tea. “I certainly wouldn’t do it to mine. But sometimes as mothers we have to do what’s best for our children, even if no one else understands. Even if they don’t understand.”

Joan hated to agree with Sybil, but… “I want him to have a normal life. As normal as it can be given his… condition.”

“Of course,” Sybil agreed, setting her tea down. “Like I said, ricin should do the trick nicely, and it does have medicinal properties. I can provide it to you, and we’ll discuss the logistics…”

She refused Sybil’s offer to make the ricin into a tea — she would rather control the dosage herself. If she was going to do this, it had to be done carefully. There was no need for him to suffer more than absolutely necessary. She would go low and slow, until his symptoms were controlled with as few side effects as possible.

***

She put the ricin in pill capsules and swapped it out for his Klonopin. Reese never asked what she gave him anyway, and if he noticed, she’d just say it was a new experimental medication - which was true, in a way. Once the switch was made, she watched for signs that it was working. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked Reese the following afternoon. She had started at a half-dose, barely enough for him to feel it, given his weight. It would probably have no effect, but she was taking no chances. She didn’t want him to be dead. 

“I’m fine, doc,” he replied irritably, not looking up from his sketchbook. “Same as I always am. Do you nag all your patients this much?”

“Just my favorites.” She tried to keep her tone light. He didn’t need to know how worried she was.

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, Mom."

She continued to record his condition in the medical journal she had been keeping since his second episode. Over the next few months, there were a few minor episodes where he partially shifted. But there was another very bad one where she'd had to sedate him, he had been so out of control. It scared her when he was like that. Despite the potency of the ricin, she had to increase the dosage to nearly three times what should have killed him.

It worked. The episodes stopped. But for once, Reese seemed to suffer side effects. He had stomach cramps so intense that he would throw up everything in his stomach and lay curled up on the bathroom floor sobbing as his body tried to expel the poison. She tried to ease it as much as she could, sitting next to him, stroking his hair, ensuring that everything he ate was mild and unlikely to come back up. Some days she wondered why she was doing this to him. But then she thought about his episodes, which only seemed to get more terrifying as he got older. If she didn’t stop them, would they continue to get worse? What if one day, he couldn’t change back? He never seemed like himself during his episodes, though she could tell it was still him.

She would manage. She always had.  

Chapter Text

Joan pulled Reese out of high school at the beginning of his junior year. The ricin was taking a serious toll on his body, and he ended up sleeping most of the day, or else calling her to pick him up with the stomach cramps became unbearable. It was easier to keep him home, once he was missing more days than not. She tried to have him home schooled, but it was difficult. Reese missed assignments, fell asleep during online lectures, and outright refused to do the reading, insisting that he didn’t see the point in it. 

To tell the truth, Joan didn’t see the point either. She felt like she was torturing him to prepare him for a future he wouldn’t have. So she let him drop out altogether and focus on his art, which was one of the only things he still seemed to enjoy. Joan bought him all the acrylics, paint brushes and canvases he asked for, and hung up his increasingly dark paintings around the house. He’d really become quite skilled by now, and she hoped he knew how proud she was of him. 

More and more, Joan avoided leaving the clinic. When she had to leave, it was to make a house call or to run necessary errands, and she made those trips as brief as possible. She didn’t like to leave Reese alone for too long. Once, while waiting impatiently to talk to her pharmacist in Brevard, she had the sudden thought that Vivian would have made fun of her for becoming such a hermit and dragged her out somewhere, even if it was just to the diner. Back in college, Vivian had always teased her about moving to the city just to study in her dorm all evening. But Vivian was long gone, as were the Richmonds. Miles had tried to invite her and Reese over a few times, but Joan had pleaded off, claiming that it would be too much for Reese. In truth, she didn’t want to have to spend more time around Sybil than she absolutely had to. The visits to pick up Reese’s medicine were bad enough.

Today was one of the days she couldn’t avoid going into town, and she was already running late. The sun was setting behind the mountains as she rushed out of the general store toward her vehicle. It was only a short drive home, and she could give Reese his medicine. He never remembered to take it on his own, and she couldn’t risk him making  a mistake on the dosage.

“Hey, Joan!” It was Miles. He hadn’t been at the general store, having left it to his wife today. Which had relieved her, since he always wanted to stop and chat, and she didn’t have time today. She debated pretending not to hear him, but he called again, louder this time. “Joan, it’s nice to see you outside the clinic!”

Joan bit back a sigh and stopped. “Miles, it’s good to see you, too, but I need to get back.”

“You can take fifteen minutes,” he responded with surprising firmness. He crossed his arms as he approached. “You’ve been working nonstop, and you need to take a break. I’m staging an intervention. You look exhausted.”

“I really don’t have time today. Reese–"

Miles cut off her protest. “Reese will be fine. Look, I get it. Maybe it isn’t the same, but I felt like that when my Kaneeka went off to college. I drove her crazy those first few months she was gone, but she was fine. She’s a smart girl. And Reese can survive fifteen minutes while you take a coffee break.”

There isn’t much point arguing with him. By the time she managed to extract herself, she would be late anyway. So, she acquiesced and entered the diner with Miles. Winnie brought two coffees suspiciously quickly after they sat down and tried to wave Joan off when she pulled out her wallet. “No, Dr. Kelly, it’s on the house.”

The pitying, sorrowful look in her eyes made Joan cringe internally. “Thank you, Winnie, but I insist.”

She slid the money under the saucer and left it there. She didn’t want or need pity for taking care of her son. Winnie frowned. “Well, is there anything I can send home with you? I can get you something to go for Reese?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” she repeated, trying not to sound curt. Fifteen minutes, and she was leaving.

Winnie nodded, giving her a sad glance. “Well, I’ll keep y’all in my prayers.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip of her coffee and Winnie returned to her place behind the counter after taking Miles’ order.

“How are things going for y’all?” Miles asked. “Has anyone been able to figure out what’s been going on with Reese?”

Joan tensed. She hated this question. “No. He has an unknown condition that is believed to be genetic, and his immune system is very weak right now. It’s been… getting worse.”

“Ah, Jesus, I’m sorry, Joan. Is there anything we can do? Maybe I can bring y’all a casserole over.”

Your wife is doing more than enough. She hunched her shoulders, pulling the coffee cup close to her chest. Her chest felt tight, and she tried to swallow her bitterness before she responded. “We’re managing. His stomach is sensitive these days.”

“And what about you, Joan? I can’t even imagine what this must be like – if Kaneeka or Junior were sick like that, I don’t know what I’d do. But you’re doing everything you can, and you have to take care of yourself too.” He paused, then snorted. “None of us are as young as we used to be. God knows I feel it the next day when I stock shelves. I don’t think I appreciated Kaneeka’s help enough before she left.”

His words faded into a dull mumble as a pit of dread formed in her stomach. He was right. Joan was getting older, and what would happen to Reese when she inevitably died before him? Who could she trust with him after she was gone? The only other person who knew the truth was Sybil and Joan trusted her about as far as she could throw her. She had been foolish to not even consider the eventuality where he was alone.

Joan thought about Stella, who hadn’t been quite the same since her parents died. She’d come completely unglued in those first months and had hardly kept up with her appointments. Joan had to make several house calls to ensure the girl was healing properly after such a devastating accident. When Joan died, Reese would learn what she had done. He’d be angry, and she wouldn’t be there to manage the situation. What if he went on a rampage? What if Stella and Kaneeka came to check on him, and he hurt them? He would never do that in his right mind, but he didn’t seem in his right mind when he changed. She could live with him hating her, if she had to, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did that.

“Joan?” Miles interrupted her train of thought. He frowned apologetically. “I’m sorry, I’m droning on ‘bout Neeka, and I’ve hardly let you get a word in edgewise.”

“It’s fine.” Joan set her coffee down and stood up. Reese should have taken his medicine an hour ago, and it’ll be at least another fifteen minutes before she can get it to him. She should have taken the truck – she can’t walk as fast as she used to. “I need to get back. Thank you for the coffee.”

She left before he could try and stop her. She pulled in the driveway, jumped out of the truck and hurried to the front door. Something was very wrong when she entered the house. Joan set her bags down in the kitchen, slipping the paper bag from Sybil into her pocket, and called out, “Reese?”

There was no response. The house was dark, and she heard distant banging from the basement. She quickly walked down the hall and opened the door to the clinic and marching through to the medical storage room. Joan grabbed a syringe of diazepam and slipped it in her pocket. Hesitantly, she grabbed the azaperone too. He was bigger and stronger than he’d been at fifteen. 

***

Joan didn’t know what had set him off that day, only that the diazepam didn’t work when she tried to tranquilize him. It barely slowed him down enough for her to use the azaperone. With both sedatives coursing through his system, it had still taken a few minutes for him to go limp in her arms.

At twenty-one years old and partially transformed, he was far too heavy for her to carry him downstairs to his bed, so she settled for the daybed in his old bedroom. It had once been a guest room, though it had gone from rarely used – only when the girls slept over, really – to never. Trying to ignore the Winnie-the-Pooh decorative molding, remnants of Reese’s nursery, she half-carried, half-dragged him onto the daybed. He barely fit, though he was slowly starting to return to normal. She sighed in relief. Sometimes she was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to change back.

Once he was settled on the mattress, Joan draped a blanket over him and tucked a pillow under his head. She moved into the kitchen then, turned on the sink, and placed cup under the spigot. They couldn’t keep doing this. If his body kept adapting to the drugs, she didn’t know if she could get anything much stronger. And what if – she realized the glass was overflowing and turned off the spigot as she did so, then filled a medicine cup with Reese’s pills.

Joan returned to the spare room and sat everything on the end table. Wary of getting too close, she perched on the edge of the mattress. His hair was a mess, and she reached out to brush it out of his eyes. Even in his current state, he looked peaceful like this. She was reminded of the night she’d brought him home from the hospital, and he’d wailed inconsolably all night. When she’d finally got him to sleep, it was nearly daylight, and she was ready to pass out on the couch with him. But it had felt worthwhile. She sighed.

***

That night, Joan didn’t sleep much. Every scenario that might play out if she died before Reese ran through her mind. Without her there, he wouldn’t be able to suppress his episodes, and he’d have one in front of people, and then what? Joan had never believed in fairytale endings, and while she didn’t care much for local history, this was the town that ran Charles Shaw out on a rail. Someone would have to take care of him, but who?

Sybil, as much as she hated to admit it, was her best option. She was aware of Reese’s true nature and the threat he might pose to others if he lost control of his temper. She also held the key to managing his condition and would have to be involved in his care regardless. At the same time, Sybil was an unknown factor in many ways. Joan didn’t know how she’d found out what Reese was, or what her aim was. That worried her. Sybil provided the ingredients for his medicine, but Joan couldn’t trust her with unfettered access to her son. Besides, Sybil was older than Joan, and if she was planning for the future, Sybil may not be an option anyway. And if Sybil wasn’t an option, that ruled out her husband as well.

The Richmonds were gone. That left Stella and Kaneeka, and…

Kaneeka was away at college, with plans for veterinary school. Reese couldn’t go with her. Joan didn’t even want to imagine how it would go if he were to transform in the middle of a city. Besides, Kaneeka had always had a soft heart and a rigid moral compass, and Joan couldn’t trust her to do what needed to be done. Part of her didn’t want to pass that responsibility off to Kaneeka of all people.

Stella had always been reckless, and ever since that car accident, she’d been even more so. For a while after, she’d been an emotional wreck, and Joan had to make house calls to ensure the girl was keeping up with her recovery. She couldn’t handle Reese.

Reese was in bed long past noon that morning, recovering from the previous day’s dose of ricin. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or not, but she thought he looked more miserable than usual that night at dinner.

“Were you up painting last night?” She missed when dinner table conversation with him was easy. It had been her favorite part of the day, once. “I heard you downstairs.”

He shrugged a bony shoulder and stabbed at his food absently with his fork. “Yeah. I was doing an art stream. Sorry if it kept you up. I’ll keep it quieter next time.”

“No, I didn’t mean—you didn’t keep me up,” she assured him. “I’m glad you have something you enjoy. Did you get a lot of… people in your stream?”

He shrugged again. “I mean, it’s late at night, so most people are a sleep. I think I got a good amount. I can’t really handle a lot of people there anyway. It gets overwhelming.”
“I wouldn’t want you overwhelmed,” she said.

“I know, doc. I’m—” He grimaced in pain, then stood up from the table. “Sorry, Mom. I don’t think I can eat anymore. I’m just going to go lay down.”

Her stomach clenched in guilt as she tried not to glance as the empty pill cup on the table. “It’s alright. I’ll clean up. You go ahead and rest.”

I can’t keep doing this to him, she thought as he shuffled back to bed after just a few hours of being awake. But what else could she do? If she could cure him, she would have long ago, but curses weren’t exactly in her scope of practice. Maybe it was too cruel to keep him here, when he was clearly suffering. It was selfish of her to be so unwilling to let him go.

***

A week later, Joan stood in the medicine storage room with the ricin and the chemistry kit. Sybil had always sent her home with more than enough castor berries, and she usually threw out the extra. She had kept his dosage steady for a few years. It seemed that whatever mechanism allowed him to adapt to the Klonopin didn’t work for the ricin or at least not as well. Maybe if she raised the dosage…

Vomiting, seizures, organ failure. Those were the effects of ricin poisoning. She didn’t want him to be in pain, even if she had to… let him go. She leaned back against the counter. What was she thinking?

But she had barely handled it today, and he was only getting stronger. She could do it painlessly, it didn’t have to hurt. He wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, and everyone would be safe. She had extra morphine that a patient had returned to be properly disposed of, and if she recorded it destroyed, she could use that. But how would she administer it? She couldn’t just give him a bottle of pills. She could mix them in his food, but he didn’t eat much anymore.

Going without ricin the other day had been disastrous, but if she reduced the dosage tomorrow, and then swapped it for the morphine the next day, he should be able to eat a full meal. She’d make something he liked, and maybe they could watch some movies. He would go to sleep, and his suffering would be over. That was for the best, right?

Right.

She put her plan into action the next day, purchasing ingredients to make Reese’s favorite and lowering the dosage. He was so much brighter the following Friday that it made her chest constrict. If only things could be normal, like this. That night, she made dinner, separating hers before adding the crushed morphine, enough to kill a horse, and mixing it in. She had to steel herself as she sat his plate down in front of him to keep her hands from trembling. She tried not to look while he ate. “What did you get up to today?”

“I was feeling pretty good, so I painted for a while, then I gave Kaneeka a call. She’s doing really good – she said she’s going to vet school after she graduates…”
Joan listened to him talk about his day and enjoyed dinner for the first time in years… until she remembered that this was it. “Reese, do you want to watch a movie? We haven’t done that since you were thirteen.”

He considered it and then smiled. “Sure, Mom.”

The movie was entirely in French, and Reese, as was his custom, talked through most of it, telling her about the different camera angles used for different shots, and how the lighting affected the mood. Joan paid more attention than she usually did. She missed him. Not just in anticipation of what was to come. She missed the happy kid he used to be, she missed spending time with him.

***

Joan’s neck was stiff when she woke up, the room lit by the soft glow of the television, which was on the menu for the movie. She picked up the remote and turned it off, checking her watch. It was four in the morning. Reese was in his bean bag chair, eyes shut. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Holding her breath, she leaned over. Her hand hovered over him. If she checked and there was no pulse, he was gone. This was the last moment she would be unsure if her plan had worked or not. 

She wasn’t sure she wanted it to work. But she had begun this road, and she had to see it through. She rested her fingers on the side of his neck and…

There was a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. She exhaled in relief. He was still here. She had failed. 

Chapter Text

Joan had not visited the Scarlet estate in nearly a decade and a half, not since Edwardine’s heart had given out, the only evidence she’d even had one to begin with. The trip up the mountain to the estate was the same as ever: eerily beautiful and profoundly lonely. A thick, suffocating fog lent a stillness to the early morning that Joan would have enjoyed, if not for the pervasive feeling that she was being watched. She tried to shake the feeling off and focus on the job at hand. 

The driveway was slick with dead leaves, wet from the dew, as Joan exited her vehicle and made her way to the heavy wooden doors of the estate. They opened after the first knock, just wide enough to reveal a dour face peering out from behind the door. Tabitha looked exhausted, with tired, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. Her shoulders were hunched defensively and the too-big coat she wore only emphasized it. Even now, she seemed to be cringing in her mother’s shadow.

“Joan,” she said gruffly, her arms wrapped around herself, and her gaze fixed on the ground. “Thanks for coming.”

“It’s my job,” Joan replied gently. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She wasn’t sure it was much of a loss. Pearlanne had always been deeply unpleasant, and Joan recalled how coldly she had behaved toward her daughter on the occasions they had crossed paths. Still, she had been the woman’s mother, and Joan didn’t know much about their private lives. 

Tabitha stepped back and let Joan enter. The house was as gray and lifeless as she remembered it and Tabitha stood in the same hunched position that she had when her great-grandmother passed. The only difference was that she now stood alone. The last in line. Tabitha jerked her thumb at the stairs, eyes still on the ground. “Upstairs, second bedroom on the right. Do what you must so I can do what I need to do. I need to get to the mines soon.”

“It’ll take as long as it takes, but I’m not going to linger if that’s what you’re concerned about,” she told her. 

The younger woman nodded and stood down with her arms crossed. She looked almost petulant, like a scolded child.

Joan walked upstairs, each step creaking beneath her. A thick layer of dust coated everything, and not the kind that could be wiped easily with a rag. The kind that clung stubbornly, even with soap and water. She vaguely recalled that the pastor’s wife was paid to clean the house, though she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it. She wondered how far they actually let her in.

***

Pearlanne rested on her bed, covers pulled up to her chin. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes, already clouding over, stared blankly up at the ceiling. The postmortem staining around her lips made it clear that she had been dead for hours, likely long before Tabitha discovered her. 

She’d long gotten over any discomfort with dead bodies since becoming a doctor, especially after completing her forensic pathology residency. It was part of the job. She was still grateful that it had been the EMTs who had arrived on the scene when the Richmonds had their car accident. It was always a little harder with people she knew. Even ones as odious as Pearlanne Scarlet. 

Joan set down her bag and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves before beginning her examination. She checked for a pulse and respiration rate, and was unsurprised to find nothing, recording it in neat print. Then she moved on to determining time and cause of death. Without a previous medical history, it was difficult to say, but from what she could tell, something had obstructed her breathing in the night. A thought crossed her mind that Pearlanne had been smothered, but… She shook her head. It was only Pearlanne and Tabitha in the house, and Tabitha would have alerted the police if someone had broken in.  She noted her findings and returned to the foyer.

Tabitha hadn’t moved an inch from her spot and flinched at Joan’s approach. In a small, hoarse voice, she asked, “She’s gone?”

Joan nodded. “She is. Did your mother have sleep apnea, by chance?”

“What’s that?” 

“Did she ever snore?” Joan rephrased. “Or did she seem to have trouble breathing when she slept?”

Tabitha paused, seeming to consider it. “Yeah, she did.”

“That’s a sign of sleep apnea,” Joan explained, as gently as she could. “It happens when someone’s breathing stops while they’re sleeping. Usually they'll start breathing again on their own, but sometimes they don't. We can discuss it more tomorrow, if you’d like.”

The other woman exhaled shakily. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

She turned to leave Tabitha to her grief, but hesitated. “Do you have anyone you can call?”

“A cousin. Lives a few hours away.” Tabitha sounded hesitant. “Sybil suggested I call. She thinks I need ‘family,’ or something. So I’m calling once I schedule the funeral.”

Oh, right. Vivian had a kid. “It’s a good idea. You shouldn’t have to bury your mother alone.”

“You don’t need to sell it, I’m already calling her,” Tabitha muttered. “We’ll see if she even comes.”

No one had seen hide nor hair of Vivian in twenty-five years, and though Joan had kept her landline years after she stopped using it, Vivian had never called. There was no reason to think her daughter would return to the town or family she had so readily abandoned. Joan didn’t feed Tabitha empty platitudes about how her estranged cousin surely would make it to town for the funeral. Those never helped. “All you can do is call.”

***

It was still early when she got back home, but she was already up and had to wait for the body to arrive. Tabitha wanted to do it herself, and Joan wasn’t going to begrudge her time to say her goodbyes in private. She brewed a pot of coffee and poured herself a mug before sitting at the kitchen table. 

Every now and then, she was reminded of Vivian. One of her favorite songs would come on the radio, or Joan would hear something Pearlanne did that they would have made fun of together. It was always in the past tense. Vivian loved this song. Vivian would have thought that was hilarious. It hurt less that way, she had thought, to think of Vivian as dead rather than the ambiguous gone. She had been wrong. 

Despite her determination to avoid all gossip, particularly that spread by Pearlanne, she had learned two or three years ago that Vivian had died of some long-term disease. She had realized then, that she preferred the ambiguous gone, where Vivian was living happily in some city far away, to the reality where she had suffered and died. 

There was a sound of the basement door opening  and closing and Reese shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. He was still in his pajamas and his hair was a mess. He greeted her sleepily. “Mornin’, doc.”

“You just wake up? It’s early for you.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him out of bed before noon. “Trouble sleeping?”

He yawned again and shrugged, opening the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “I feel okay, I guess. Why are you up so early? Did you have a house call?”

She nodded. “Early this morning.”

“Medical or mortuary?” He settled down at the table with his juice.

“There was a death last night,” she said. He knew better than to ask who. Besides, Tabitha would make her own announcement to the miners, they’d spread it at the diner, and Stella would hear it and pass it along to Reese. He didn’t know Pearlanne anyway. Joan wouldn’t have let that monster around her child. “I’ll be in the morgue this morning, so stay on the house side until at least this afternoon.”

He nodded. “Are you embalming today?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She hated the smell of formaldehyde anyway. It smelled disgusting and took forever to go away. 

Reese sipped his juice, subdued. He always seemed interested in her work, though he never expressed any intention of going to med school himself. It was for the best.

After a few minutes, he asked, “What if you couldn’t take a body for some reason?”

“It would go to the nearest hospital’s morgue,” she replied. “Why?”

“When I die—" 

Her heart nearly stopped hearing those words, and the certainty with which he spoke them. “You are not going to die, Reese. I just need time—“

“Mom, please.” Reese looked pained. “I don’t want you to have to handle my body. You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Reese, I am doing everything I can—“

“I know, doc, I’m just saying. I don’t need a funeral or anything. Maybe, I don’t know, you and Stella and Neeks can have a nice dinner in my memory or whatever.”

He couldn’t die, or else what was all the suffering for? No, she would fix this mess as soon as she could figure out how. “Reese, I don’t want you talking like this.”

“Like what?” he snapped. “Like I’m dying? We both know it’s coming; I’m just trying to prepare for the inevitable. It makes everything easier.”

She hated this. She hated him planning his own funeral. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, but she didn’t want him getting any more upset than he was already. She took a sip of her coffee. 

Reese frowned, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Mom, I know you’re trying. It’s okay.”

***

Tabitha arrived with the body an hour later, bundled in the body bag Joan had left at the estate. Joan went out to greet her and the two of them brought Pearlanne into the clinic and down into the morgue, laying her on the autopsy table. Tabitha glanced around the morgue, arms wrapped around herself and looking anywhere but at her mother’s body. Joan gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

“Yeah.” Tabitha sounded relieved and followed Joan upstairs and into one of the exam rooms. 

Their discussion was brief – Joan wasn’t a mortician and would not be involved in the funeral, which would be the Sunday after next, beyond storing the body of the deceased. “Did you get a chance to call your cousin?”

“Huh?” Tabitha seemed out of it, but she managed to compose herself. “Yeah, I, uh, I got ahold of her. She’ll be here Monday and stay until the day after the funeral.”

“Would you like your mother embalmed for the funeral?” She suspected not. Edwardina hadn’t been embalmed when she passed. Pearlanne had been very insistent on it. But it was standard practice unless the family requested otherwise, and Tabitha didn’t seem in the headspace to make the request unprompted. 

Tabitha blanched. “Do I have to?”

“It’s not required,” she told her. “Her body should be fine in the morgue – it’s cold enough down there to keep her…”

“Intact, I guess,” Tabitha finished. “Yeah, we’re fine. I need to get to the mines now, though. I’m already late.”

Joan walked her to the door of the clinic and watched her drive away in her BMW. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and nearly jumped out her skin to see Reese had come up behind her. “Reese, what are you doing in the clinic? Is everything alright?”

He was staring out after Tabitha and frowning. 

“Reese?” She subtly moved out of arms reach. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked. “Oh, yeah. I just… poor Tabitha.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’d offer her my condolences, if she didn’t hate me.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,” she reassured him. “Who could hate you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You have to say that. But thanks anyway, doc.”

Reese returned to the house, but Joan stayed at the window for a while longer. Some deep-seated instinct told her this was going to be the longest week of her life.